


Just like the ones I used to know

by girlwithabird42



Series: Once more for the ages [22]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 15:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19405771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwithabird42/pseuds/girlwithabird42
Summary: Nathan Drake across four Christmases.





	Just like the ones I used to know

Even as they ride further south, it’s difficult to stay warm on the road. Nate bites his tongue because it has to get warmer sometime, but when he grabs onto the back of Sam’s jacket, his brother yelps.

“Jesus, Nathan your hands are icicles! Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

“It’s not like I was carrying any around in my back pocket when we ran,” Nate retorts. “We _could_ get a car, you know. That’d be warmer.”

Sam snorts, “And a hell of a lot easier to track down in a stolen vehicle, no thank you. We’ve got a perfectly good bike to get us where we’re going.”

Nate rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue further.

In the evenings in every motel they stay at, they pour over mom’s journal taking in every detail of Avery, Drake, and whatever else she could fill the volume with.

They’re lingering on the _Gunsway_ heist one night; Sam taps the pages. “We’ll see it finished.”

Nate cocks his head, “You promise?”

A pause. “Yeah, I promise.”

Nate should know better. Father Duffy warned him on occasion, Sister Catherine constantly, and a tiny sliver of himself wavers, but Sam’s been good for his word every time since that night.

Sam’s asleep on top of the covers on the other bed; Nate finds himself tracing the lines of the pencil sketches. Sam’s never said anything about mom being good at art. Drawing was about the only thing Nate could get away with at the orphanage without getting into trouble.

It’s nice to have something in common with her, even if he can’t remember it.

Sam slows the motorcycle down in front of a tiny museum boasting new discoveries of the Lost Colony.

“That was Raleigh at Roanoke, not Drake,” Nate points out.

“Drake made a pit stop and so are we. There’s a pay phone across the street from our room. I want you to keep an ear out in case I gotta make a call.”

“Let me come with you,” Nate pleads. They’re supposed to do this together. “What if you need me in a vent again?”

“I need a man on the outside more.”

Nate huffs, “Planning on getting pinched?”

“Calm down. No one plans on it, but you gotta prepare for eventualities.”

The night’s long and seems to drag on forever. Nate passes the time with a motel notepad, trying to copy some of mom’s drawings when he catches a faint ringing outside.

Tense, “Hello?”

Sam’s voice is surprisingly relaxed, “Hey Nathan, I’ll be spending the night here. I’ll meet you back at the motel in the morning, okay?”

But Nate doesn’t feel like sticking around the stale-smelling room any longer and makes his way on the abandoned highway downtown. The police station and the church face off with each other; Nate settles onto a bench on another side of the square, sparkling with holiday lights and no one to appreciate them.

The bell in the church steeple clangs every hour on the hour; Nate’s notepad doodles of the statuary saints develop weird, angry faces, unlike the passive ones they wear.

He’s not stepping foot into another Mass if he can help it. They’ll all say mom’s in hell. Sam says she isn’t, and if Sam of all people believes it, Nate does too.

Dawn turns the sky grey and people start filling in for the early mass as a lone figure exits the police station, pausing to light a cigarette.

Nate crumples his drawings into his pockets and darts in Sam’s direction.

“Hey Sam!”

Sam jumps, but doesn’t drop the cigarette.

“Shit Nathan, I told you to stay put. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Not if that cigarette doesn’t first.”

“Yeah, well a man’s gotta pass time in jail somehow.”

Nate snorts. “You were barely there six hours. Besides, Sister Catherine told me about the butts she found in the confession box.”

Now Sam chuckles, “Not my fault she couldn’t smell them over all that incense. Hypocrite.”

“So…” Nate presses as Sam lets out a long exhale. “Did you get it?”

“Not here,” Sam mumbles, pulling Nate away from the station and further down the street.

Well out of sight from anyone, Sam extracts an old piece of parchment from deep in his jacket. “You’re not the only who can do sleight of hand.”

“Let me see,” Nate reaches for it, but Sam holds it over his head and even Nate’s highest jump can only get his fingertips to graze it.

“Better hope you have a growth spurt, huh?”

“Asshole.”

“Don’t worry, you can look at it all you want back in the room because you’re gonna figure out another clue on Drake and his heirs.”

Pride flares up in Nate’s chest and it doesn’t feel sinful, it feels good, fortifying him against the December air. They’re doing this together.

“Oh and by the way,” Sam adds, tucking the paper away, “I got you these.” He tosses Nate a pair of brand new gloves. “Merry Christmas, baby brother.” He starts back in the direction of the motel, leaving Nate to stare at the gift a moment.

“You steal these too?”

Sam laughs in response; Nate has to run to catch up.

\----------

Nate’s nineteen and fresh out of prison when Sam slips him a piece of paper.

“Sullivan wants you for a job.”

“Wants _us_ for a job,” Nate corrects him.

Sam shakes his head, “Just as soon have a tooth pulled. Have fun on whatever cockamamie thing Victor’s planning.”

Nate tries not to look too put out.

No one pays Nate, Sully, or Cutter any mind in the crowded, loud cantina.

“Ready for your first real museum job, kid?”

Sully drops a glass with an unidentified liquid in it in front of Nate. He takes a swig too fast and chokes, certain his nose hair is burning. Sully and Cutter roar with laughter.

“Screw you guys,” Nate sputters weakly. “Besides, it’s not my first museum job,” he pointedly reminds Sully.

“An unalarmed glass case with a standard lock does not a museum job make,” Sully clarifies for him. “The museum’s a converted estate and we’ve gotten word it’s got some generously sized flues, so uh…” he leaves Nate to fill in the rest.

He groans. “And you’re sending me down one. You know, pretty soon you’re going to have to find someone skinnier than me to do your dirty work.”

Sully takes a cigar from his shirt pocket. Through a clenched jaw, “I’m not making a habit of picking up wayward kids, especially ones with errant tagalongs, so you better keep the weight off.”

“I’ve got the alarm sequence for you,” Cutter provides. “But we still gotta settle on a when lads. Security’s been up in the city since all the high profile thefts –” he pauses for their chuckles.

Sully puffs away, thinking, but it comes to Nate in an instant.

“Christmas. Limited security while everyone’s home for the holiday.”

Sully smirks, “Regular goddamn George Washington, huh?”

“Who?” Cutter feigns ignorance.

It’s settled then and there: it’s a working holiday for them.

Scaling the outside of the chimney is easy enough; the inside proves trickier. Over a century’s worth of soot makes the bricks slick and Nate nearly loses his grip. He also puts his hand directly into an old, dried out bird’s nest.

Sam wasn’t wrong; this is harebrained.

“Doesn’t anyone ever clean up?” he grumbles to himself when he spots moving shadows through the fireplace.

Crap. They timed this so the room would be guard-free.

Just as a precaution, Nate reaches for the gun in his new holster, but it’s Sully’s voice that booms below, “Ho, ho, ho.”

Nate drops the last few feet, spitting out soot. “That’s my line.”

“Eh, you can say it when you put on the pounds and the demeanor,” Sully grins.

“Santa do a lot of stealing in your experience? Sounds like he belongs on the naughty list.”

“Plundering the plunderer’s gotta be worth the nice list in someone’s books,” Sully shrugs.

“And what happened to me getting the door?” Nate grouses, irritated at the ordeal. He’ll be knocking ash out of every hole for weeks.

“Saw a chance to finagle the door,” Cutter explains, entering the room. “Don’t be such a Scrooge.”

“Bah humbug,” Nate help but grin.

“Charlie, the kid’s clearly Oliver.”

“Hey!”

“You want to be Scrooge?” Sully raises an eyebrow at Nate.

“At the moment, yes.” Clean enough, Nate strides forward. “Let’s go get your stupid loot.”

A goddamn chimney of all things.

\----------

In retrospect, all the structural damage they did to the temple was ill-advised as Nate and Chloe only barely escaped with their lead and with their lives. The hotel manager didn’t ask questions when they stumbled in, caked in dirt and sweat because just walking down the road does that to a person here.

Also, the adrenaline made Nate horny. Chloe too. The showers don’t last long.

Scotland and its unrelenting drudgery made him almost forget treasure hunting could be fun. Then Chloe rolled in and was more than game to remind him.

It’s too hot for clothes or sheets, so they lie there, naked and panting after she rolls off him.

“Well, that was an experience.”

The way she says it, Nate thinks it should be punctuated by the click of a lighter. Sam swore by the post-coital benefits of a cigarette. For an instant, the ceiling fan buzzes impossibly loud.

“You were pretty good yourself,” Nate says, rolling onto his stomach and breaking the hypnotic state. He could probably nap the day away.

Chloe hums in agreement at his appraisal, but evidently has a different idea. At the groan of the mattress, Nate cracks open an eye.

“Leaving already? Our boat’s not for another couple days.”

“I have no intention of wiling away time in bed when there’s a beach and cocktails just outside.”

She picks up the phone on the nightstand, heading towards the bathroom.

“Order room service!” At least he’ll get fed.

“Order your own. I’m calling my mum.”

Nate considers her closely as she snatches clothes off the floor. Chloe really doesn’t strike him as the ‘check in with mom’, but no one in their line of work is.

He can’t hide the incredulous note in his voice, “Really?”

“I’d be a piss-poor daughter if I didn’t wish her a merry Christmas – more of a piss-poor daughter,” she amends.

Holy crap, Nate completely forgot about that.

“She got any good plans?” he asks casually.

Chloe smirks, “If she knew what was good for her, exactly the same plans as me.”

Nate chuckles.

“In reality, she’s having dinner with friends.” Finished collecting her underwear, she slaps his bare ass hard. “You better be up by the time I’m off the phone.”

Nate won’t say no to that motivation, but he makes no movement until Chloe’s shut the bathroom door behind her. It takes an effort not to make out what Chloe’s muffled voice is saying on the other side as he attempts to be presentable without access to the sink.

Who the hell would he even call? Sully? It takes no speculation on Nate’s part to guess Sully’s day is going to look an awful lot like Nate’s and as such, wouldn’t want the bother.

“Yeah, love you too.”

Distracted, Nate nearly trips on the phone cord as Chloe emerges, catching himself before there’s real disaster.

“Almost disconnected you there.”

“Thanks for waiting until the end, I suppose. You ready?”

Nate’s beer taste awful, but it’s cold and cheap. Chloe clinks her unnaturally colored drink against his bottle.

“To an unsober holiday and a successful venture,” she toasts.

“Here, here.”

They drink so much Nate doesn’t even feel his sunburn that evening.

\----------

Thank goodness Elena put the decorations up when she did because when she gets a nasty head cold a week before Christmas. Nate is up to his eyeballs; taking care of Cassie and Elena and running the business are enough, getting the tree just right would have been a bridge too far.

“Is the house at least passable?” Elena asks, bedcovers pulled up over her waist. Her laptop and phone are still in front of her, no doubt confirming travel come January.

Nate leans in the doorway with Cassie on the opposite shoulder, not passing the quarantine line.

“More or less. They’re staying at a hotel –”

“ _Nate_ –”

“– and I’m just saying leaving a bit of a mess lets your parents feel useful and gives them the perfect opportunity to silently judge me as a husband and father. The perfect gift a son-in-law could give.”

Nate likes Jim and Patricia, really. It’s just they all saw each other a few weeks ago and Nate selfishly wishes it was Elena, Cassie, and him for the holiday.

Elena’s laugh turns into a sneezing fit and then a wistful sigh, “I hate that I’m ruining her first Christmas.”

“You’re _not_. Besides, that’s why you’re laid up now so it’ll be all clear in a couple of days.”

Elena’s forehead wrinkles, but doesn’t argue. She sets store by the process and Nate teased her on more than one occasion about being secretly Catholic.

“Where’s her carrier?”

Not at all what he expected. “I’ll have to find it.”

Truth be told, Nate feels much more secure one-handedly propping Cassie against himself than carrying her around in something that makes him look like a buckled-up kangaroo.

Even before Elena got sick, they were getting pretty good at taking care of the dishes with just one hand. Now, Nate would say he and Cassie are professionals. Still, he ought to find it.

Patricia and Jim descend on them a few days later. If the house isn’t up to standards, they’re polite enough not to say anything to Nate’s face. It’s not like it should be a surprise to them anyway, Nate’s seen Elena’s childhood bedroom.

Jim brings Elena soup they somehow smuggled on the plane and Patricia immediately absorbs Cassie’s attention, leaving Nate at a loss.

“I’ll just… get to that stuff I’ve been meaning to,” he gestures to the box room they’ve vaguely been calling an office.

“Mmhmm,” Patricia replies, too busy tickling Cassie.

Elena claims she’s feeling better by Christmas Eve and even helps with dinner.

“Can I offer you a beer, Jim?” Nate asks, pulling a couple from the fridge.

“Certainly.”

Patricia and Jim sit with Cassie in front of the tree, who is completely entranced by it.

“Do you like the pretty lights, Cassandra?” Patricia coos.

“Cassie,” Nate interjects a little too forcefully. He winces and Elena, having just taken a bite of cookie, catches his eye. Quickly taking the bottle from his hand, she swigs the cookie down.

“We’re going with Cassie, mom. Cassandra’s a bit much for everyday.”

Nate mouths ‘thank you’ at Elena as Jim jokes, “Plus she ought to know when she’s really in trouble.”

Nate chuckles weakly as Elena reaches in for the beer again. He doesn’t catch her in time for the second gulp, but snatches it back after that. Unseen by the in-laws, Elena kicks at his shin.

“Asshole,” she smiles, but doesn’t attempt for the beer again.

Elena excuses herself early after dinner, leaving Nate to half refuse her parents’ offer to clean up.

“No, I insist –”

“No, _I_ insist –”

He’s perfectly happy to surrender, collapsing on the couch, running his hand up and down Cassie’s back as she falls asleep.

“We ought to be getting back to the hotel – big day tomorrow,” Patricia says, reaching for their coats.

Nate sees them to the door, lingering as they pull away in the rental. Cassie lets out a small involuntary shiver at the night air.

“You and me both, kiddo,” Nate whispers as he shuts the door.

The bedroom is dark except for the TV on low, Elena balled up under the blankets. Nate sets Cassie down in her crib, then crawls onto the bed, stirring Elena awake with a kiss to the temple.

“Which one is this?”

“Wha?” Elena hums groggily.

“Which movie is this?” Nate gestures to the TV. He’s seen it before, he’s sure, but there’s still no keeping them straight in his head.

“Oh,” Elena says propping herself up somewhat. “ _White Christmas_.”

Nate nods, “That’s a song, right?”

Elena snorts, brushing hair out of her eyes, still heavy with dark circles.

“Well, maybe you’re feeling better, but you still look awful,” Nate assess.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” Elena chuckles, pulling him to her by his shirt front.

“Hmm, you might even say it’s my specialty –” he nods, gently climbing on top of her, catching her with a deep kiss.

Elena finally breaks them off, “I’m gonna get you sick.”

“Good. Then you can entertain Sully and Sam for New Year’s – if Sam even shows.”

“Who am I kidding, you annoyingly have the constitution of an ox,” Elena huffs. “Hundred-foot falls, bullets, and not even sick once since I’ve known you.”

Nate’s hands slip under her bottom, bringing her even closer. “Tell me about it.”

Elena’s just starting to work on Nate’s pants when a whimper from the crib pulls them both out of it.

“I got her, I got her,” Nate half-stumbles off the bed. “Not diapers, so she’s probably hungry.”

“Give her here, I haven’t had her in a week,” Elena reaches out.

“You think she remembers how to do anything but bottles?” Nate teases.

“Shut up.”

It takes a moment of fussing, but once Cassie and Elena settle in, Nate can’t help but reach for the sketchbook. The thing Renaissance artists never get despite all their purported realism is the Madonna and Child should be tired, both of them. Nate’s always tired and he has the least to do of the three of them.

Tonight he’s fixating on Cassie’s hand clasped on Elena’s forefinger.

“She’s got a grip,” Elena says wryly.

“Hmm.”

He isn’t finished by the time they are and he has to put it down the drawing, taking Cassie so Elena can rebutton her shirt, but there’s more where that came from. He gives Cassie back to Elena, both of them fading fast.

The room is still and near silent, except for the faintest sound of Bing Crosby and the others crooning.

Nate kisses Cassie and Elena, setting Elena easily in the crook of his arm, “Merry Christmas.”

Before long, he’s asleep too.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [robotwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotwitch/pseuds/robotwitch), Christmas 2018.


End file.
